


January 2003: Vin

by ZorroRojo



Series: Vignettes [2]
Category: The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-19
Updated: 2013-03-19
Packaged: 2017-12-05 19:48:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/727244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZorroRojo/pseuds/ZorroRojo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Series of Vignettes in the still-unnamed AU. Each chapter is a complete story</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

*****

January 2003

*****

 

Vin took another look around at his new place, deciding it wasn’t any worse than anywhere else he’d lived. He actually kind of liked the little blue house, nestled into an alley in one of the worst neighborhoods in Denver. It felt a little strange, being back in Denver and more than a little strange taking a job for the government. He took the job for one reason only-- he wanted to work with Chris Larabee.

He’d made bigger decisions for dumber reasons in his life; he hoped this one worked out better than some of the others. He had another three days before he had to report for work, before he’d find out if he’d be out on his ass before he even started.

Of all the things he pictured himself doing, being a fed was so far out of the picture, it never even appeared on the list. Why would Chris Larabee, or Travis, the new head honcho of the ATF, want him to work for them? Travis was a hard ass, but fair, from everything he’d heard. And a real professional. Didn’t make sense.

And Larabee. Vin’s heart sped up just thinking about that man. He was thinking with his dick, not his head and things never worked out when he let himself want. He’d learned to stop wanting long before he’d even become a man.

He’d never forget the way Chris acted when it looked like they were going to be charged with something serious. He acted like it would never happen, that such a thing *couldn’t* happen to someone like him. Vin knew better. Or maybe things like that didn’t happen to Larabee. He had the air of a man who got what he wanted, who’d never known a day in his life when people treated him as less because of who he was. 

Hell, the man shot up a town, took down the half the Bandidos, tussled with the cops and came out of the mess with a job offer. Made Vin think Larabee led some sort of charmed life. Was probably captain of the football team and prom king in whatever comfortable little suburb he grew up in. Only, there was something in his eyes that said he knew pain. Knew it up close and personal. 

When Chris took him out to breakfast the morning after they met, it was about the first time in his life Vin ever felt like he knew someone he didn’t know. Felt a little strange, but comfortable at the same time. And if he didn’t know better, he’d think the half-smiles and sideways looks were flirting, got him more than a little hot and bothered, but halfway through breakfast, he’d figured out Chris just didn’t swing that way.

Didn’t stop him from wanting to be around him though. It was more than physical attraction that had him wanting to hitch his wagon to Larabee’s, it was some sort of weird bond they’d had from the minute their eyes met across that street. It didn’t feel weird telling Chris things he hadn’t told anyone. He never told people he spent time in prison. Made them treat him different; made most people treat him like he was probably guilty. Like he was less a person. He’d been treated like that before, for other reasons; it was nothing he wasn’t used to. Didn’t have to like or accept it though.

But Chris weren’t like that. He could tell right off. And in three days, Chris’ opinion of him would probably get shot to hell. First time he had to take a test in the classes he was scheduled for, or even before that. Maybe he’d have to fill out some foolish paperwork before things even went that far. What did he think he was doing, accepting that damn job? 

Most of the others probably had more schooling than he did; it was hard not to. When Chris offered him a job, he didn’t tell him he didn’t even have a real high school diploma; just the GED he’d had to work his tail off for. Wouldn’t even have that if he didn’t need it to get into the army. Schooling just wasn’t one of Vin’s priorities in his life. He’d thought the feds wanted their agents to have some fancy college degree, but Chris told him his six years in the army made up for not having a degree. Buck didn’t have one either, Chris told him.

The breakfast flew by too fast for Vin’s liking and before he knew what happened, he was on his bike and heading to his rented room. Headed into a new life as part of a team. Didn’t take him long to pack his bag, get his truck, load up his bike and hit the highway for Denver. He had to find a place to live, let his grandpa know where he’d be and get some new clothes. 

And here he was, only a month later, ready to report for work. He’d never held down a job where he had to punch a clock, well besides the army, and after the first year, that weren’t regular neither. He had no idea if he could even do it, but it was worth a shot. Something happened out there in the desert and it wasn’t something he was gonna question. Something told him he was where he needed to be. 

Vin took a deep breath and walked a small, tight circle around his little living room. Yep, this was going to be home for a while, if things went right for longer than his track record so far. Not bad, he decided, feeling himself grin. He'd picked up the furniture second-hand, and some of it was ugly as sin, but it was all in good shape, and it was his free and clear, so he planned on taking care of it. His books and manuals looked at home on the coffee table. Then again... Coat of paint on the coffee and end tables would definitely help. 

Sighing, Vin ran his hand over his unruly hair. He was procrastinating, and he knew it. With a little resignation mixed with a dash of dread, he opened up the ATF procedural manual Chris'd sent to him. He'd already been through the short version, which was really a procedural summary-- or Quick Reference Guide, as they called it-- and it hadn't been so bad. He'd had worse in the army. But this thick one had him a tad concerned.

He flopped onto his comfortable, but very fake suede couch, and took the plunge. He scanned the table of contents first, relieved to find that it didn't look any worse than the summary thing. Vin grinned as he saw that a good number of the chapters were dedicated to weapons, and those he was already damn familiar with. The rest of the chapters just looked to be in-depth stuff on all the procedures and codes from the summary that the team would have to know about.

He dug in, starting with the weapons chapters, and found himself breezing through those. They weren't nearly as detailed as what he already knew about the various rifles and handguns, and the info about what types of criminals tended to go for what weapon was easy to absorb. It was damned unnerving though, learning about the kinds of sophisticated firepower that was ending up in the wrong hands. Them AK-47's were bad enough, but it looked as though it was worse than he'd ever imagined.

Vin only paused long enough to grab a long-neck from the fridge, then went back at it, this time going through the chapters he'd skipped. He was a little relieved that he only needed his dictionary a few times, but there were lots of paragraphs he had to read twice before he got the gist of what they were saying. But he did eventually get it, and he decided that was the important thing.

Even that procedural stuff reminded him of the army; regulations about when and if you have the authority to fire a weapon, and such. Was a little trickier than the army, though, considering when you're at war, you don't gotta turn over your weapon for processing and go through a review every time you shoot somebody. Vin leaned back and closed his eyes; the pages had begun to blur, he'd been reading so long. He let the manual rest on his chest, and a yawn escaped.

Not really sleeping, he just dozed off and on, images of the past flashing quickly, but vividly behind his eyes.

Basic training, he'd learned one of the earliest and most valuable lessons about munitions: never refer to your weapon as a 'gun' in front of a drill sergeant. One of the men in his unit had made that mistake, and all of them ended up in the pouring rain, buck naked and running the damnedest drill Vin had ever seen. Jogging in place, over and over again they chanted, "This is a weapon, this is a gun; this is for shooting, this is for fun," pointing alternately at their field weapons and their flopping, rain-shrivelled dicks. Joel Bailey didn't have many friends after that drill. 

Vin hadn't done so bad with friends, though. Then again he'd apparently made an enemy or two in his army career, or he wouldn't have been framed up for murder and had to watch that career flush down the toilet. Army hadn't done squat to help him, said it happened out of their jurisdiction, sorry Sgt. Tanner-- excuse me, Mr. Tanner-- dishonorable discharge and all.

He could see the rep who'd brought him that news, clear as day in his mind. He could see the look of disgust on the young Captain's face. Nope, the army didn't have no use for some murderer who killed women when on leave. That left Vin with a backwater public defender who, while he believed in Vin's innocence, spent too much time on the sauce to do him much good about it. Ironic that the army never found out Vin didn't even like women-- not like that anyway-- and even more ironic that it was the same Captain they sent to find him once Vin'd been cleared and released. "No thank you, Captain, the army can fuck itself."

Young Mr. Captain hadn't been too happy to hear that. Vin hadn't given a rat's ass. They thought they could just pick up where they left off? Vin wasn't having any of it. They'd already done discharged him, took away all his benefits, and Vin had all the papers to prove it. Captain told him that might not be the end of it; things were changing, and so were the rules. Well, they'd just have to see about that.

Only one person had had the decency to apologize for what he'd been through. Funny, but it was one of them women judges that the guys in his unit woulda called "a bleeding heart" or some shit. Well, didn't look like her heart was bleeding, but at least she acknowledged that he was owed something he could never get back-- those two years in prison. She'd given him the advice that he could stay angry forever, or he could move on and make something of himself, since he'd shown already he had the stuff to do just that. At the time, Vin hadn't wanted to hear it. But now, after a year of bounty-hunting some of the most lowlife degenerates he'd ever come across-- including those who'd crossed his path behind bars, Vin was finally beginning to see her point.

Start spending time with decent folks again, it tended to remind a person that on the whole, the good people did outnumber the bad ones. And the good ones were worth looking out for. This team of Chris' was his chance to do that. He wanted that chance, more than he'd realized. Hell, a lot of it still had to do with the fact that it was Chris leading the team, but more than anything it had to do with himself, letting himself have what he deserved.

Vin shook himself more awake, and reached for his beer bottle. Warm, of course. He must've been dozing longer than he planned. Replacing the warm one with a cold one, he opened the manual again and got back at it. These procedures weren't so bad, once he could get his eyes to focus on them. Vin found himself grinning as he read. He was beginning to think he might just last more than a few days after all.


	2. January 2003: Ezra

*****

January 2003

There was little view to speak of, but there was a rather quaint courtyard-style patio in the back of the new townhome. It was also nestled into a gated community, which was a top selling point, as far as Ezra was concerned. He didn't want just any riff-raff to be able to drop in on him. He'd have to remember to forget to put his mother on the list of permitted visitors, he thought to himself as he sipped his wine, looking out the french doors onto his patio.

Denver. Ezra sighed, and took a larger sip this time. He'd been enjoying Albuquerque, and he never would have voluntarily chosen to relocate to Denver. It was his own fault, though, and as much as he'd like, he couldn't put this one at anyone else's feet.

He hadn't planned on keeping any of the money in that little side-deal that'd come up in his undercover assignment. He'd just enjoyed holding on to it for a time. The only thing that saved him when the briefcase full of cash had been found tucked away in the trunk of his car, was the fact that he'd gotten started on the paperwork to turn it in, and had been able to describe to the investigators where he'd hidden the documents in his condo while he was still in lockup.

Nevertheless, not 'getting around to it sooner' had cost him his job at the DEA, and gotten him onto a tactical team with the ATF. In Denver. Colorado. Where it snowed. A lot.

Ezra shuddered, softly telling himself, "To hell with it," and then downed the rest of his glass. Shame to waste a good Pinot to wallowing, but that was his current mood and his current selection.

The ATF manuals that Mr. Larabee had sent to him lay on his credenza, and Ezra shot them his most disdainful glance. He held no animosity toward Mr. Larabee himself, after all the man had been able to decipher his distress call, which led to his subsequent separation from the drug runners he'd been with in the cell. It had been a close call, and Ezra would not have liked to still be in that cell when the officers returned to ask about the money in the trunk. Those... gentlemen... had been under the impression that he was low on funds, hence the current deal they'd been making to get Ezra closer to their boss.

Upon further reflection, Ezra realized that he really should have turned in the paperwork and the cash with more haste, considering they were from a previous assignment, before he embarked on that ill-fated one. What truly stung, though, was that he and his supposed cohorts ended up in the cell in the first place over a traffic violation. His companions had gotten belligerent with the officer, and the whole thing had gone downhill from there. Ezra never had the opportunity to finish that assignment.

Oh, no. He very nearly ended up in a federal prison. He snorted softly, as he quickly squashed that thought and poured another glass. It really was doubtful he'd have gone to prison, and he really should confine the dramatics to times he had an audience, he quietly chastized himself. But while prison was a stretch, being completely out of a job wasn't. It was only because the current deputy director of his division had a favor due from Orin Travis that Ezra had a job now at all.

Deputy Director Lawrence wanted Ezra out of DEA, but he'd already granted Ezra too many reprieves for indiscretions over the years. To flat out dismiss him after all that would tarnish Lawrence's own record. Instead, he'd called in that favor from Travis and arranged for an inter-agency transfer to the ATF. As it turned out, a background in explosives made him 'not quite as useless' as Travis had originally thought. Ezra rolled his eyes as he remembered Travis making the remark. How unfortunate that the old curmudgeon had been at the police station in Albuquerque when that little mishap with the cash occurred. It had nearly soured the deal when Lawrence called upon him to present it.

Travis had accepted the arrangement, though, but how Ezra ended up on Chris Larabee's team was something of a mystery. Travis had told him it was nothing more than a need to fill that specialty on Mr. Larabee's team. Ezra sensed it was more than that, though. He did not believe Lawrence's explanation that Travis believed Chris Larabee was about the only federal team leader who could 'handle' him. Someone needing to 'handle' him at all was simply too preposterous to warrant consideration.

Ezra sighed again, and took another swig of the wine. However it happened, the situation was not to be changed for the foreseeable future, and although he could've picked much better than Denver, Ezra was actually grateful for the job. For some unfathomable reason, he enjoyed this type of employment. His analyst had once said that it afforded him the opportunity to look into the minds of deviousness with the safety of being on the right side of the law. Ezra hadn't taken that contemplation any more seriously than he had the advice that he should work out some of his issues with his mother. Perhaps he'd simply forego the services of an analyst in Denver. The funds were much better spent on his wardrobe, he decided.

He wasn't sure, though, how his taste in fashion would mesh with the activities of an ATF tactical team. Ezra grinned to himself, the idea of dreadful riot gear suddenly seeming ludicrous. He was certain that like most bureaucracies, most of his time would be spent in an air-conditioned or heated office, as weather required, filling out paperwork.

In fact, the more he thought about it, the more the idea of the ATF appealed to him. Ezra finished off the rest of the wine, feeling more relaxed than he had in weeks. Before he checked the locks and turned down the lights, he jotted his mother's name on the approved visitor list for the guard station at the entrance to the community. He'd skim through the ATF manuals tomorrow, he decided.

*****


	3. January 2003 Nathan and Josiah

*****

January 2003

“Josiah, this is the last place I’m looking at. We seen enough.” Nathan wasn’t kidding. He had enough. More than enough, actually. Josiah could take his Feng Shui and stick it where the sun don’t shine.

Nathan leaned against the kitchen wall while Josiah stepped into the small yard to ‘investigate‘. He felt the beginning of a little tickle-- most likely regret that he’d agreed to bunk with Josiah for the next year, at least. Raine committed to a year of volunteering at the community hospital out on the reservation. Just out of her residency, she wanted to serve and wanted to do it before she‘d had children or committed to a specialty and the additional schooling that went along with it.. 

If Chris hadn’t offered him this job, he’d spend the next year alone in Albuquerque. Married to Raine, a member of the tribe, he could live on the reservation too but he didn’t want to crowd her, or have her spend her time worrying on how he was adjusting. There was plenty of time for that when their lives wouldn’t be so complicated. He’d survive the year, now that he left Albuquerque and the gang wanting him dead. He wasn’t all that far from her and they’d both get some time off. And it would be real time off, not minutes grabbed in the middle of busy lives. He could handle it. If he didn’t end up killing his new roomy. 

Josiah stepped through the door and Nathan pushed off the wall “Well?” Nathan asked.

“I think this will do it. There’s room for a garden out back and we’re not too far from work.”

“You sure now? The doors facing the right way and all?” Nathan couldn’t keep from smiling. He and Josiah had known each other for a couple of years now. They met in a bad situation; one of Josiah’s kids got shot. Out of that tragedy, they’d formed a solid friendship. Everything would work out.

“Brother Nathan,” Josiah said as he slung an arm around Nathan’s shoulder. “You will thank me when you are seeking tranquility and peace from our new calling.”

“Calling? It’s a job, Josiah. One I never woulda figured you‘d say yes to.”

“To tell you the truth, Nate,” Josiah said softly as he steered them toward the back of the house, where the bedrooms were, “I took this job for two reasons.”

Finally, Josiah was about to spill with the real reason he’d said yes after his initial outright refusal. Had him more than a little curious but everything had moved along so fast since the night Josiah called him to ask if he wanted to share expenses in Denver. He waited patiently while Josiah checked out both bedrooms-- probably measuring angles or some other nonsense.

“I’d like this one,” he said as he stepped out of the smaller bedroom. 

Nathan nodded to him; he didn’t really care which bedroom he slept in. Without Raine there with him, it would only be a room in a temporary living situation. He was still waiting for Josiah to tell him why he took the job. 

“I got sick of seeing crows, Nathan,” Josiah said, keeping his voice low. “I know I was doing good work in Albuquerque, but I was picking up pieces. Watching lives wasted by hopelessness and violence. We have a chance to make a difference. Peace, love and understanding only go so far.”

“And the other reason?”

Josiah led the way to where the rental agent waited for them out front. He gave Nathan a big, toothy grin and lowered his voice. “I’m not quite ready to be put out to pasture yet.”

Ha! He knew it. He’d been there the second time Chris dropped in on Josiah. He saw the look on Josiah’s face when Chris told him the team would have their own chopper and Josiah would fly it. He’d grinned like a madman. Scared Nathan a little. All right, a lot. Only time Josiah ever got that look was when they’d been out drinking and someone started a fight-- giving Josiah a chance to step in and end it. The man had a strange sense of fun, but then again, Josiah had an interesting way of looking at the world. 

*****


	4. January 2003: Buck and JD

*****

January 2003

Home. Funny how Buck thought of Denver as home even though he actually grew up in a backward little town in Nevada. But Fallon, Nevada had never seemed like home to Buck, particularly after his momma died. She died too young and left him all alone. He didn’t want to stick around in that little shit town, especially since everyone knew him and his ma and had already made up their mind what kind of man he’d be-- and all before he turned nineteen years old. 

Most of his mother’s customers over the years came from Fallon NAS. His momma hadn’t wanted him to join up with the Navy, but with her gone and him with no prospects, he didn’t see how he had much choice. He signed his enlistment papers with a silent apology to her, but he never looked back. Kind of the way he lived his life and while he sat in the coffeehouse waiting for one JD Dunne, he could truly say he didn’t have many regrets. Not many people could say that, he knew, and he was determined to keep living his life the way he always had. 

He knew he made the right choice on his latest big decision. Hell, he took a small pay cut and wouldn’t be in charge anymore, but the not being in charge part was sorta the point. And while he’d done a good job in Albuquerque and didn’t regret a minute of the past two years, he looked forward to having a little less responsibility. More importantly, he looked forward to working with Chris Larabee again. He’d talked to him on the phone the night before and told him how he’d taken the new kid under his wing. Dunne would need a lot of training, being one of the only two new team members with no tactical experience, but Buck was used to playing the mentor role on Larabee’s teams. He got to be the good guy, and got to tease the newbies, both things he loved. 

He fidgeted in his seat and tapped out a beat on the table. Maybe the three mochas weren’t such a good idea, but the waitress was damn cute and each time she brought him a refill she stopped and talked to him. He’d have her number before he left, he was sure of that. 

He heard JD’s bike coming up the street well before he could see him so he motioned for his check. He got Breanna’s number along with his check and couldn’t help smiling. It was a fine, beautiful day and he got a gorgeous lady’s number out of the deal. Couldn’t ask for much more.

He watched JD park his bike and waved him over to the patio, gathering his things as JD crossed the street. 

“Hey, kid,” Buck shouted to be heard over the traffic. “You didn’t ride that thing all the way from LA, did you?”

“Nah, I flew out there and back.”

“You all set?” Buck asked, not waiting for JD’s answer. He made sure the kid followed him and headed for his loft. It was only a three block walk and Buck adjusted his gait once he realized JD practically had to run to keep up with his long-legged stride.

“How’d you get a place so fast,” JD asked him as he stopped in front of the entrance to his building.

“I’ve had it for a few years. I bought it when I first came to Denver and I didn’t sell it when I moved down south.”

“Nice place,” JD said as they stepped inside.

Buck was pretty proud of his place. It was the first place he’d owned and he knew it was right not to sell it, even when he moved a state away. Besides, when he bought it, it was in one of the first loft converts in Denver. It appreciated more than he’d ever thought it would and now he had a nice nest egg. Go figure.

He led JD to the elevator and slid open the doors. Kid’s bike would fit in the elevator and in the loft. He knew the kid would love it; it was the perfect bachelor pad. He’d moved his furniture in only two days before. It was tight, getting the tenants out and his stuff in in time for the first day of work, only a day away.

He swung open the huge metal door and stepped back, sweeping his arm out. “Welcome home, JD.” Buck couldn’t help grinning big as JD stepped inside. Wait till the kid got a load of the place!

“Sweet!” JD shouted to Buck and Buck chuckled as he shut the door behind him. 

Sweet wasn’t even the word for it. Eighth floor, twenty-seven hundred square feet, two bedrooms, two baths, brick walls, open floor plan. It felt good to be home again. It would feel even better to be working with Chris again.

JD rushed around the loft, checking the views, the kitchen and the huge entertainment center. They had themselves a perfect setup. Buck knew from the minute he met the kid that they’d hit it off. Okay, maybe not the minute they met. He was pretty ticked at the kid for following them out to the campsite when Chris had told him to stay put. But JD was at the hospital the morning after and pestered him for almost a full week.

By that time, they’d both taken the job offer and JD had to go to LA to send his few belongings back to Denver and to fill out his paperwork for the inter-agency transfer. 

He let JD explore the place as he pulled a pizza box out of the fridge. He was damn near starved. He threw a few slices on plates and popped them in the microwave. Just as it went off, JD appeared, a huge smile lighting up his face.

“This is so great, Buck,” JD said, bouncing up and down. “The place, the job. Just… everything.”

“You’re welcome,” Buck said as he served the pizza. He grabbed a couple of cans of soda and put them on the island, not bothering with glasses.

“I can’t believe I’m going to be on a tactical team,” JD said around a mouthful of pizza. “I was kinda down that I ended up in an office. When I applied for the FBI, I really wanted to be a field agent, but they put me in operations.”

“Calm down, JD. Tactical ain’t all it’s cracked up to be. Most of the time, we’re gonna be running drills. It’ll be a couple of months before we’re even out in the field.”

JD nodded to him, but Buck could tell the kid wasn’t listening to him. He’d find out soon enough how boring it could be to wait around with nothing to do. And Chris would run their asses off, Buck knew that from first hand experience. But Larabee never expected his men to do anything he wouldn’t do. Made it a little easier to take when Chris was right there with them with the sore muscles and worn down boots.

“I’m a little worried about working with Mr. Larabee,” JD confided once he’d finished his pizza. “He’s got a reputation.”

“He does, huh?” Buck asked, curious as to what kind of rep Chris had after all this time.

“Yeah, I heard he’s a real hard-ass. Cold as ice, too.”

Buck put down his soda and leaned forward on the counter. “Kid, you got to understand something about Chris. He’s not what he seems. Chris used to be a lot of fun. Never a better man to have by your side in a fight, be it for work or fun. He used to have a wife and son and he lost them in a fire. That burned half the soul out of that man.”

JD stared at him, mouth open. Guess he hadn’t heard all there was to hear about old Chris. Seems the people telling JD stories forgot what Chris used to be like. Well Buck hadn’t. He hoped this new start might go a ways toward getting that Chris Larabee back. And if it didn’t-- well, he’d still be happier working with Chris again than he had been in too long.

“Come on, kid,” Buck said as he dropped his plate into the sink. “Let’s go hit the stores to get you set up until the rest of your stuff gets here.”

*****


	5. January 2003: First day of work

*****

January 2003

Chris walked the perimeter of the hangar, checking for himself that it was secure. Old ones like this tended to have worn patches here and there in the siding, and Chris didn't want to take any chances that anyone who managed to make it onto restricted areas of the Jefferson County Airport property would find his or her way into his new base of operations.

He found a section of the northwest corner that could use a bit of reinforcement, but otherwise the hangar was in surprisingly good shape. Smack dab in the middle of the open space of the hangar sat Chris' most recent delivery, his team's UH-1N Iroquois. He was lucky to get it, and Chris knew that. The armed forces were still hogging every mission-worthy helicopter to be found-- save this one. The military was planning to retire the entire UH-1 fleet in '04, so naturally they were going to get the most of the ones that were still running in the meantime. But Chris had underestimated Travis' connections. They could have ended up with a barely air-worthy bucket of bolts. Chris grinned, looking forward to Josiah's expression when he laid eyes on this thing. It'd even had a paint job recently. The chopper downright sparkled.

Josiah still had to get qualified on it, of course. His records included past certification on a good number of Huey models, but just not this one. Even if it had included this Iroquois, it'd been so long since he'd flown that he'd have to be re-certified anyway. Piece of cake, the ATF aviation coordinator had said earlier, though. All Josiah had to do was pass the written exam, and go on a quick test flight with a rep from the ATF's aviation licensing department. For someone who'd flown nearly every other model in the class, Josiah should be done with his qualifications inside of two weeks-- just in time for him to take the rest of the team up for their airborne field training. Jefferson would be perfect for all of that, the airport grounds already equipped and in use for helicopter and flight training. Nathan and Vin-- especially Vin-- would be going as a refresher and to help the others along, both having extensive experience with airborne exercises.

In the meantime, Chris had lots of interesting things planned for their field training on the ground. He rubbed his hands together in anticipation-- as well as to generate some heat-- heading over to the newly arrived storage lockers. The crates that held the ATF-issued weapons and ammo were stacked in front of the lockers, and he'd have help from the guys getting everything stowed away once they arrived. Some of the crates held their computer equipment, and others held the few bits of office furniture that Chris had ordered, but all that stuff could wait. Chris' first priority was running mission scenarios with his men, getting them into the mindset of a rapid-response team that could be on the move as quickly as possible. Once they finished with the first part of the day Chris had planned, the guys could use whatever energy they had left to put together the desks and get the computers setup. 

First things first, Chris located the crate that had the radios and communications equipment. He hoped each of the guys had read through the communications protocols included in the quick reference guide he'd sent them. The day's agenda would begin with sending them outside the hangar to run through the ATF and team-specific comm codes for positioning and intel sharing. This could be fun, Chris decided.

His grin widened as he caught sight of a bike headed towards the hangar, through one of the dingy windows. He bent back over to the crate though, continuing to pull radios out of it, piling them on the utility table-- the only piece of serviceable furniture inside the hangar.

A few minutes later, Vin walked through the propped-open door.

"Isn't it a mite cold to be riding the bike out here?" Chris asked, his way of saying good morning.

Vin shrugged, but did rub his hands together, just as Chris had done earlier. "No ice on the roads. Don't care what the weather is, I prefer the bike to my tank when I can help it."

Chris laughed. "Tank? This I've got to see."

Vin grinned at him. "You'll get your chance." He turned toward the chopper, eyes showing his appreciation. "Iroquois, huh? Nice."

"Josiah ought to like it," Chris said by way of an answer, looking up from the table to grin at Vin.

"Falcon series?" Vin asked pointing at the pile of radios, though it was obvious he recognized them.

"It's good stuff-- or it's supposed to be," Chris said with a shrug.

"Oh, it is," Vin said, picking up one of the radios, examining it closely. "Damn, they've integrated the HF with the multiband radios, now," he added, looking at it curiously.

"They're all digital now," Chris said. "And can all be integrated with our network here at the base."

Vin grinned wide, a definite twinkle in his eye. "So this is the permanent base? No offices at the federal building downtown?"

Chris couldn't help but grin back, feeling exactly the same way about not having to put up with the crap that went along with reporting to an office downtown. "Nope. We'll have to be able to fly out of here on a moment's notice, and it'll be easy to file our flight plans, having a tower nearby. We'll have the bare-minimum that we need here as far as office equipment, but when we're not in the field, we'll be spending as much time as we can making sure we stay field-ready."

"I like the sound of that," Vin answered, and from his relaxed expression, Chris believed it. He didn't know about the others, but Buck wouldn't be happy that they wouldn't have any women around their base of operations. "These bad-boys got any juice?" Vin asked, looking anxious to get going. 

"Came fully charged," Chris answered, feeling his grin grow sly. "We're gonna test 'em out with a little scenario this morning."

"I'm all ears," Vin said.

"Let's get started, then." Chris separated the radios, and flipped one to Vin. "Your designation is CO-6. I'm CO-7. We'll assign the others their call signs when they get here," Chris said, and realized this could be more interesting than he'd thought. A lot more. Vin returned his smile, and the two of them got started checking the power on each individual unit.

"Hey, did you get a chance to go over the codes and comm protocols that came with the reference guide?" Chris asked.

"Hell, yeah," Vin said answered right away, and to Chris it sounded just a little bit defensive, as though Vin wouldn't have dared walk in without having done so.

"Just askin'," Chris said, feeling his eyebrows quirk.

Vin gave him a sheepish grin as he looked up briefly from the unit he was busy checking. "I don't like being behind, is all. So yeah, I got all the codes and protocols memorized. Wasn't so different from the Ranger protocols," he added with a shrug.

There was probably some truth to that-- the codes being similar to the Ranger coding system Vin'd been used to. Was the same for the coding systems Chris'd used in the Seals and with SWAT. But still, Vin'd memorized the new codes already? Living in Denver from the start, and being responsible for this team, Chris'd memorized them already, of course, but with the other guys moving and settling in to a whole new state, Chris had hoped that they would have started getting familiar with them at least, but not to have memorized them. He'd had the feeling since they met that Vin was one who didn't show up for anything unprepared, but this was beyond his expectations.

"Having a pop-quiz?" Vin asked, quirky grin on his mouth.

Chris blinked, then realized that was exactly what he had in mind. "Something like that. In fact, I got something else to show you."

Vin's eyebrows rose at that, and Chris laughed softly, even as he pulled open the duffle bag he'd brought in with him.

He pulled out a couple of the special weapons he had in mind for the morning's scenarios. Vin's smile grew positively devious, and Chris knew he approved. "Paintball guns?" Vin asked, but it was really more of a statement-- and an excited one.

"What better way to make sure the team can use the comm system? I'll take the Northwest corner of the hangar, and you take Southeast. We'll maneuver the guys around the building, a couple at a time, to make sure they can work the positioning."

"And if one of the men gets it wrong?" Vin asked, gleam in his eye as he looked over one of the paintball guns.

"Splat," Chris answered.

Vin picked up a canister of the accompanying paint. "Let's lock-n-load."

Chris gave him a wink and picked up another canister. This was turning out to be one hell of a good day.

A couple minutes into loading up the two paint guns, Vin cleared his throat. "Hey Chris? You know, the fellas ain't gonna be too happy, having drills that involve paintball guns when it's about zero degrees Fahrenheit out there," Vin said. But the mischief in his expression was plain to see.

"Oh, I think they'll live," Chris replied, sharing yet another devious smile with him.

Half an hour later, Buck, JD, Nathan and Josiah had arrived, and they were just waiting for Ezra Standish. 

All the guys shook hands, getting reacquainted and making small talk while they blew into their hands and stomped a little, all of them trying to keep some body heat going. Chris nodded to each of them, but mostly kept his eyes on his notepad. He and Vin had worked out a few different scenarios to run, and they'd jotted them down, till the notepad pages looked something like football play-book diagrams. Being more recently out of the military, Vin'd had the scenarios burned into his head after only a few glances. Chris knew he'd need a little more brushing up before he could have scenarios memorized so quickly. Hell, he'd just take the notebook with him this time, he decided, hiding a grin. Hey, he was team leader. Wasn't the guys' business if he 'cheated', he decided.

"That haircut don't look regulation to me," Buck said, teasing Vin, and reaching out a hand like he was going to rub it over Vin's somewhat shaggy head.

Vin ducked out of the way though, looking half-amused and half-irritated. "You making the regulations, here?" Vin asked, then suddenly glanced over at Chris with a curious look.

Chris just shrugged. "Just don't come in with pigtails one day, and we'll all be fine. End of regulation."

Vin's reply was a dangerous narrowing of his eyes, but Chris knew that this time it was all for show. Chris stifled a laugh, but knew his grin wasn't hidden this time. Vin finally just rolled his eyes and shook his head. 

At last, a full forty minutes after 8 a.m., their start time, Ezra pulled up next to the hangar.

Once he'd made it inside the hangar, all the rest of them burst out laughing. For a supposedly intelligent man, he looked awfully confused.

"I don't know what kinda scenarios you think you're gonna run wearing Armani, pard," Vin said, leaning casually against a column of piping that went from the floor all the way up to the hangar ceiling. Of course, the rest of them were dressed in jeans, sweatshirts and thick nylon jackets.

Standish ignored that little remark, along with the continued snickering as his eyes took in the hangar, the chopper and the crates of equipment. His eyes settled on the column of piping just across from Vin, and his expression drew into one of horror. "Good lord, what is that?"

Josiah, still stifling his laughter, answered for them. "Feel free to call it the throne."

"It's... it's... it's a commode!"

"Geez, you didn't think they'd give us a base that didn't even have a toilet, didja?" JD said, slapping Ezra on the back.

Ezra stared at them one by one, like they were aliens. Chris enjoyed it for another couple minutes, then decided enough was enough.

"All right, now, let's get down to business. Standish, your call sign is CO-1, and before you start having delusions of grandeur, I'm CO-7, so that should tell you something." Ezra nodded to him with a sickly smile, and then Chris added, "Don't be late again."

All the guys gathered closer, and he and Vin began distributing the radio units.

"We're gonna be playing our own little version of tag," Vin said, then sent a quick grin Chris' way. Oh yeah, this was going to be fun.

 

Three hours later, all the guys were fully versed on the radio communications protocols, though Ezra would have to do a little homework, catching up on his reading of the manuals that he hadn't done. He also had a nice, big, purple spot on the back of his suit jacket, courtesy of Vin's paintball gun. It was the price for not having learned the difference between the retreat and advance codes before showing up. The real surprise was that Standish had actually taken it well, once he'd gotten through his indignant protests and had put his long leather coat back on over his suit.

All the others had at least gotten started learning the codes, with Vin already having had them memorized. It's what made him so effective in helping to run the scenario. The scenario itself had been damned effective, too, more than Chris had hoped. The team really was beginning to gel, as Travis put it. Though JD was a little disappointed that he'd be on a short leash, considering his lack of field experience, he listened, did as he was told, and was eager to learn. Josiah and Nathan quickly got back into the swing of being in an operations environment again, and for Buck, the only adjustment would be going directly from SWAT to an ATF unit. No sweat.

And Vin, from the moment he walked in almost an hour early and completely prepared, Chris had known that he'd be invaluable, Ranger experience aside. He had a good feeling about this team and how it would shape up. He decided he might even grow a heart and have some cubicle walls ordered to put up around the throne. Hell, he might even let the guys in on the little secret that the airport terminal itself had a café and a steakhouse. All day long, and having heard nary a complaint, Chris decided that all teasing aside, he'd run by the hardware store and pick up some portable heaters. Giving them a little shit was one thing, but he didn't want his guys to be completely miserable. Besides, Chris didn't have any desire to freeze his own balls off.

It wasn't until they'd gotten the office desks all put together that Chris realized he'd gone almost the whole day and not thought about those arson resources he could tap into now that he was officially on the job. It was after five, though, and the guys had all had a long day, so he didn't ask them to stay to put the computers and network together, instead telling them to call it a day. Anyway, Chris had an ATF network login, so he could do it from home, if he wanted.

If he wanted? If? What the fuck?

"Chris? Chris?"

He turned to see Vin looking at him, with a concerned frown.

"Sorry. Just woolgathering. I'll see you tomorrow. Not so early this time, ya hear?"

Vin grinned, but the concern was still in his eyes. "See you tomorrow," he said after just a brief pause, and swung his leg over the seat of his bike. Concerned or not, he apparently knew enough to leave it alone for now. Yet another reason Chris liked having him around. It was good to have someone around who'd watch your back and also know when to back off.

Chris climbed into his truck, now that the hangar all locked down, and waved once more to Vin as he sped off on his bike. He wasn't giving up on finding out what happened to his family. It'd be a cold day in hell before he gave that up. He just had to come to grips with the fact that something had come along that seemed to be bringing him a measure of... of what, contentment? Satisfaction?

Brought him a measure of guilt, too, even though he knew rationally that he had no reason to feel guilty. He didn't miss his wife and boy any less than he did the day before, or the day before that, and he sure as hell didn't love them any less. Most of all, Chris was surprised. People had told him that gradually, he'd start living again, but he hadn't believed it. Sure, he'd had his days before this one in which he'd been able to smile, or even laugh briefly. But this was the first time since he'd lost Sarah and Adam that when he looked ahead he saw more than vengeance. Oh, he still wanted his vengeance, and he'd get it if it killed him. But there was something else out there, now, too. 

Once he found the info he needed to get his family's deaths avenged, there might be something of a life for himself to be had. He wasn't ready to take that to the bank just yet, but he was at least willing to consider the possibility.

*****


	6. January 2003: Vin

*****

Vin was freezing his ass off, almost literally, by the time he made it back to the house. He loved his bike, and it was true that he took it whenever he could, unless there was rain, snow or ice-- or any of those in the forecast. But he'd forgotten just how damn cold Denver could feel in January, even if there wasn't much in the way of snow on the ground.

The good thing was that the cold kept him from developing a boner throughout the day and on the way home. The way Chris had looked running those scenarios all day, Vin might've run the risk of getting visible wood, if not for the freezing temperatures. Well, he'd just have to get over all this before the warm weather set in, Vin decided.

Most likely, it wouldn't take that long anyway. Any time Vin'd found himself looking more than he should, it was always because it was someone new he'd met, and he always got it under control once the excitement of a new person wore off. Usually, though, the excitement wore off because he found out that there wasn't as much to get fired up about as he originally thought. Most people just didn't live up to the package they presented, was Vin's experience.

Standing under a hot shower, trying to get the chill out that'd set into his bones, Vin could only hope that Chris wouldn't measure up the way his packaging promised. Little chance of that, though. So, Vin figured he'd just have to get over it the *un*usual way; by convincing himself that the package didn't measure up. He hadn't had to do that too often, but it'd happened.

Finally warm, Vin stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist, and gave his hair a quick rub with another. Padding into the kitchen, the smell of lasagne was just beginning to permeate the air. According to the instructions on the box of the recently-frozen dinner though, he had another twenty minutes before it'd be ready.

Vin flopped onto the couch and picked up the remote. A couple minutes of surfing left him bored, and more than a little irritated. The boner he'd avoided all damn day had inevitably arrived, and had no intention of just going away.

What would it hurt? he asked himself. He was in the privacy of his own home, and as long as he kept his imagination confined to his own time, he wasn't hurting a damn thing. Besides that, maybe if he got all this out of his system at home, he wouldn't be thinking about shit like this on ATF time. As far as rationalizations, it was one of his better jobs, he decided, and slid his hand under the towel.

Eyes closed, Vin took himself in a tight grip and called up the one image of the day that was burned into his mind. Chris had executed a tuck-n-roll, then come up firing, winging JD on the arm with purple paint. Of course, Vin hadn't been able to see who Chris had hit from his vantage point; that wasn't the point. It was the slo-mo Vin's head replayed over and over again, Chris moving into the tuck, jeans stretched against Chris' tight ass, rolling, then coming up to fire, all in one motion that was smooth and strong at the same time.

The man moved like a panther; sleek, graceful and yet so powerful. Vin's whole body shuddered, as he wondered what it would feel like to be underneath all that grace and power. Vin could picture himself, pinned to the floor, face down, with Chris moving over and into him, using the full force of all those lean, sinewy muscles to fuck him right through the carpet.

The image was so vivid, Vin could see it and he could almost feel it, being enveloped by Chris' hard body, hot breath in his ear as Chris came deep inside him. Climax exploded, and Vin came hard, spurting onto his chest as he visualized himself coming with Chris' cock buried in him as far as it could reach.

Long seconds passed while Vin caught his breath and the semen all over his chest cooled. Damn, it was a mighty fine fantasy he'd made for himself. It'd likely be the one to get him through until his fascination with the real deal finally eased up a notch or two. If he could keep this little infatuation in line with the occasional jerk and a hot fantasy, he'd be fine, especially since he didn't doubt for a second that beyond the tight ass and seductive smile, there was a solid friend to be found in Chris Larabee. And Vin was never one to turn one of those down, rare as they were.

With a satisfied sigh, Vin wiped his chest with the towel, then hauled himself up to go put on some sweats. He'd just gotten a pair up over his hips when the timer on the oven went off. It smelled great, and the scent of cheese and tomato sauce made his mouth water. Plus, he knew from experience that there'd be plenty leftover to warm up for breakfast, before heading back out to the hangar and whatever Chris had in store for them on their second day on the job.

Yeah, he could live like this.

 

*****


	7. January 2003: Super Bowl Sunday

*****

January 2003

Beer, check. Popcorn, check. Chips, check. Dip, check. Anything else the guys wanted, they’d have to bring with them. Chris wasn’t sure what kind of soft drinks to buy, so he didn’t buy any. He didn’t want leftovers sitting in his pantry for years. 

The guys were supposed to start showing up anytime after two o’clock with a game start time of four o’clock mountain time. Chris didn’t give a shit about the Superbowl-- Oakland vs. Tampa Bay-- neither one of them a team he cared about. Now if it was the Colts, then he’d care. That wasn’t looking like it was going to happen anytime in his lifetime though.

He checked the temperature gage out on his front porch. Fifty-five degrees. On January twenty-sixth in Denver. Not natural. But he’d take it, especially since he wouldn’t be stuck inside if things got a little rowdy.

He wanted to kill Buck for inviting the entire crew out to his place, but it was too late to say no. Ask forgiveness, not permission seemed to be a rule Buck lived by. He couldn’t get too upset with Buck though. Making friends of teammates was SOP on every team Chris ever led. With this crew, that wasn’t hard at all. Seven guys, there was bound to be disagreements here and there, but so far they’d all hit it off like old buddies-- even Standish. Training was near enough to the point where they were ready to go on call. And while technically, they weren’t scheduled to go live until the first of April, Chris knew they’d be ready to go the first of March.

He took one last trip around the house, making sure things were ready for company. He literally couldn’t remember the last time someone other than his once a week housekeeper came into his house. The high school kids, a brother and sister, he hired on to help with the horses came over a few times a week, but they never came up to the house, only to the barn. 

He shut the door to the hallway that led to the bedrooms and locked it. No need for anyone to go down there. He didn’t want Buck to know he hadn’t touched a thing in three years or even that he now slept in the tiny bedroom at the end of the hall instead of in the master. Wasn’t anyone’s business. He didn’t want their pity or even their understanding. His grief was his and his alone and he guarded his privacy with hostility, even if he didn’t understand what made him do it. What the hell did he think he was doing, hosting a Superbowl party?

Too late to back out now. He knew that. He’d do his own thing and let Buck play host. He pulled another bag of chips out of the cupboard and was trying to decide whether to serve them in a bowl or to just toss the bag onto the coffee table, when the bell signaling someone entering his driveway chimed. A glance at the clock confirmed what he thought. Someone was early. Probably Tanner. The man was the antithesis of ‘fashionably late.’ Or was he unfashionably punctual? He had his suspicions that Tanner’s habitual early arrival everywhere he went had something to do with gaining the upper hand, tactically.

Was a pretty good strategy, Chris had to admit, even though showing up an hour early to a party was a little extreme. He stepped out onto his wraparound porch just as a monstrosity of a car he’d never seen pulled into up to the parking area.

Buck jumped out the front passenger door and gave Chris a wave and a big smile. 

Tanner soon exited from the driver’s side and he gave Chris a wave before going to the back of the vehicle and opening the tailgate.

JD, in the back seat, pounded on his window and Chris could barely hear him yelling until Tanner had the tailgate open.

“Hold your horses, kid,” Buck shouted as he opened the door and JD scrambled out.

Chris stepped down off the porch and went to meet them, his curiosity getting the better of him. He recognized the model-- a 1978 Jeep Super Wagoneer. He didn’t think any of the old monsters were still on the road. He hadn’t seen one in years. His mind made the connection to Vin talking about his ‘tank’ about the same time he got close enough to make out the words JD and Buck were shouting at each other.

“I’m riding in the front on the way home,” JD said, crossing his arms.

Buck gave JD a melodramatic shake of his head. “No way, kid. Adults sit in the front.”

“But the seat is metal!”

“Too bad. Besides, you got more padding than me.” Buck turned to Chris, and JD headed toward Vin, who was pulling something out of the back.

“Buck,” Chris said with a nod.

“Heya, Chris. You gotta see this thing. Vin’s got himself a jail on wheels.”

Chris joined Buck in walking to the back of the tank and they got there just in time for JD and Vin to drop a big box onto the ground.

“Careful, boys,” Buck boomed out. “You break that and we’ll be having raw steaks.”

“Buck?” Chris asked, eyebrow raised at his harebrained friend.

“I figured your grill would be rusted over or buried in the barn so I brought one.” Buck smiled at him like it was the best idea he’d ever come up with. 

“You couldn’t even put together a bicycle,” Chris said, trying not to flinch at the bittersweet memory. “What makes you think you can put together a grill in time for the game?”

“That’s what the kid’s for. JD, there’s tools in the workroom off the barn. Why don’t you go scare up what we need while the adults go have a beer.”

“I don’t think ‘errand boy’ is in my job description,” JD mumbled.

“You didn’t read the fine print on the roommate contract then. Come on Vin,” Buck said as he started walking toward the house.

Chris shared a look with Vin and they both glanced at Buck, already headed toward the house while JD grumbled his way to the barn.

“You volunteer to give the dynamic duo a ride out here?” Chris asked as Vin pulled open one of the doors to grab a grocery bag.

“Buck volunteered me.”

Buck had a way of doing that, Chris knew. “This the tank?” 

“Sure is. I made all the modifications myself.”

Vin stepped aside and motioned for Chris to take a look. Interesting. It really was a jail on wheels. The rear seat had been replaced with a metal bench and it was encased by what looked like bars people put in to keep their dogs out of the front seat when they drove. There were eye hooks, probably to chain a prisoner down, spaced out along the back seat. The doors didn’t have any interior hardware so they couldn’t be opened or the window lowered from inside.

“Shatter-proof glass in the back windows, too,” Vin said.

“Nice set-up.”

“I worked bail jumpers alone and catching them was only half the job. Had to deliver ‘em too.”

“Any ever get away from you?”

Vin gave him a funny look, then shook his head and laughed softly. “Reckon I’ll save them stories for when I need to entertain y’all.”

Chris smiled back at him; he couldn’t help it when Vin’s face lit up like that, and wrapped an arm around Vin’s shoulders. Vin stiffened at the initial contact, but let Chris steer him toward the house. “I don’t give a shit about football. This was all Buck’s idea.”

“I never could get too worked up about watching any kind of sports,” Vin said as Chris gave let him go and they climbed the steps. “Just never understood sitting around watching.”

“More a man of action, then, huh?” Chris asked, silly grin still in place.

“Never played many sports, either. Some pick up basketball and the like, nothing too organized.”

Gave Chris a moment of pause, Vin never having really been part of any kind of team before, but his military record, the parts that weren’t classified, and his actions so far in their own training proved that Vin could be an effective part of a team. This team, at least. He followed Vin into the house, ready to be a guest at Buck’s party. Even if it was his house.

“Place looks great,” Buck said as Chris followed Vin into the kitchen.

“Hired a housekeeper,” Chris said as he took the offered beer. 

Tanner turned down the bottle Buck held out to him. “Got anything I can help with?” Vin asked Chris.

“Ask Buck. It’s his party.”

Vin glanced at Buck, looking a little wary, then gave Chris another one of those smiles. “I think I’ll pass,” he said. 

“Don’tcha trust me, Vin?” Buck looked like innocence himself, if Chris didn’t know him. Vin was pretty good at reading people, not trusting that too trusting look on Buck’s face.

“I think I’ll go help JD with the grill,” Vin said, making his escape before either Chris or Buck could stop him.

“That boy’s fast, and a fast-learner,” Buck said to Chris as he started fixing his famous, according to him, beer and onion soup. 

“Haven’t had that in ages,” Chris said as he leaned on the counter close enough to watch Buck cook.

Buck didn’t say anything in response, rare enough for him, and Chris knew Buck was still feeling his way around their renewed friendship. He’d missed Buck, but he hadn’t realized it until he started working with him every day again. He didn’t miss the feelings being around Buck, and the memories of his family, that came with those feelings. Being around Buck, here in the house, was tougher than he thought it would be.

He had too many memories of Buck cooking his soup in this very kitchen and watching him chop the onions and hum while he worked nearly sent Chris into a tailspin.

“Team’s working out great, ain’t it?”

Buck’s question snapped him out of his potentially downward spiral. Gold ‘ole Buck. He took a minute to answer and Buck let him have the time he needed. “Better than I thought it would.”

“I knew right from the first day, hell, even before then, that this team would be something special.”

“You did, did you?” Chris asked, raising an eyebrow.

Buck nodded. “Sure did. The way we stopped the Bandidos in their tracks, when not even the Nevada State PD, or the feds could, that was something special all by itself.”

“Yeah, Vin told me he was in town trying to get the one who had a warrant on him from their shootout in Laughlin. I didn’t know you knew about that.”

“Got a bulletin about it.” Buck said as he poured the beer into the soup and dropped the lid onto the pot. “All done,” Buck said, crossing his arms and leaning back on the counter. “Just gotta let ‘er simmer for a time.”

It smelled good already and his mouth watered at the prospect of Buck’s soup. “What else did you bring?” Chris asked.

“Some man-sized steaks, potatoes so you can make mashed and that’s about it. You said you were providing the snacks and beer.”

“What, no vegetables?”

Buck gave him a ‘you’ve got to be kidding me’ look before pushing off the counter. “I’m going to go supervise the kids.”

“You getting old, pard? They aren’t exactly kids.”

“Nope,” Buck said, shaking his head, still grinning. “But they’re younger and faster than us. We gotta remind them who’s smarter.”

Chris shook his head at Buck’s whistling his way down the hallway. Smarter… he wasn’t too sure about that. Wiser, maybe. Thinking about their last training session and the way Vin and JD rappelled out of the helicopter like little kids at an amusement park convinced him of the wiser part. 

His driveway bell rang again and he pushed off the counter, much like Buck had, and went to meet the newest arrivals. His team sure was shaping up, and spending Super Bowl Sunday bonding *was* a good idea, even if it was Buck who thought of it.

Of course, Buck likely wasn't thinking of it in terms of a team-strengthening exercise; to him, it was just natural to spend down-time relaxing with the guys you depended on during the job. With Buck, it was instinct, whereas with Chris it was a practicality.

He got the front door in time to open it for Nathan and Josiah, and he waved them in with a grin, eyeballs making note of the covered dish in Josiah's hands. Before he could even get the door closed, he spotted Ezra's car pulling up the drive.

"Got a microwave?" Josiah asked, heading further inside.

"Through the archway there, in the kitchen," Chris answered, still hovering at the door.

"Josiah's got a mean little taco dip, there," Nathan said over his shoulder, following Josiah to the kitchen.

"Looking forward to that," Chris said, waiting for Ezra to get out of his Lincoln. Chris laughed a little to himself, remembering the lecture JD had given Ezra about his gas-guzzler, and how it hadn't had the effect on Ezra's conscience the way JD had planned. Nope, lumbar support at the touch of a button, precise temperature controls and keyless entry were creature comforts Ezra had no plans to relinquish.

Finally, Ezra made it to the front door, a bakery box in his hands. Chris cocked an eyebrow and gave the box a pointed look as Ezra passed inside. 

"No, they are not cream puffs. They are not Lady Fingers. They are chocolate eclairs," Ezra said before Chris even had a chance to say hello.

Chris grinned. The guys always gave Ezra shit about what he had in his bakery boxes, those mornings he came to work with them, but whatever Ezra brought with him, it was always gone in the blink of an eye. "Good to see you too, Ezra. "

Buck blew back into the living room with a gusty sigh, and threw himself into Chris' armchair.

"The boys gave you the boot, huh?" Chris said, having a seat on the couch.

"Ain't my fault I forgot which setting on the drill was forward and which one was reverse," Buck answered, eyes narrowed into a glare.

Chris laughed. "Did you unscrew something they'd already put together?"

"It was just one leg," Buck grumbled, and took a sip of his beer.

Chris rolled his eyes. So much for being smarter.

 

The game was all right, and Josiah's taco dip really was pretty good, but Chris just couldn't get into it. All the guys-- except for himself and Vin-- hooted and hollered in all the right places, even Ezra, but that was mainly because he had money on the game, as Chris'd soon discovered. Vin looked like he wanted to escape as much as Chris did. If he'd learned one thing in the short time they'd all been together, Chris had learned that Vin's tolerance for togetherness was even shorter than Chris' own. A little could go a real long way sometimes.

A commercial break came on, and the guys quickly scattered, Nathan and Josiah dashing a race toward the bathroom, Buck and JD heading toward the kitchen for more beer, and when Chris glanced around, he spotted Ezra in the corner on his cell phone. Sounded like a call to his bookie.

Chris took a swig from his long-neck, draining the last of it, and wondered where Vin had slipped off to. Wily son of a bitch had made his escape at the perfect moment. Chris grinned, really rather impressed at Vin's skill and timing. He pulled himself up from the couch and dropped his bottle into the recycling bin, passing Buck and JD as they headed back to the living room with their beers. A flicker of movement through the kitchen window outside caught Chris' eye, and he thought he spotted a fleck of brown at the barn door. Vin's jacket was brown, and so it'd have shown up against the white of the barn, even as dingy as the white paint actually was these days.

Chris grabbed his own jacket from the hook, and slipped out the back door, making a beeline for the barn. He wasn't surprised to find Vin perched on the top of a stack of hay bales, calm smile on his face as Chris pulled the door closed behind him.

"Nice setup you got here, Larabee."

"It's not bad," Chris said with a shrug. "Could use a little work."

Vin's eyes did a sweep of the barn, gaze raking over the stalls and up at the hay loft. "Hell, that's just cosmetics."

Chris nodded, then looked out toward the large, opened sliding doors at the other end of the barn that face the corral. "I'll be needing to get some fencing repaired by spring, though. The north pastures will be ready for grazing, and the last thing I need is for one of the horses to get loose."

Vin hopped off the hay bales and ambled over toward the open doors, stopping at the gate that closed off the stalled area of the barn from the open area where the horses could come and go from the corral. "How many you got?"

"Six. Haven't been ridden in a few years now, though. They were my wife's," he said quietly, knowing Buck would've long since filled in Vin and the other guys on all the particulars of his family.

Vin nodded, not seeming surprised, as Chris expected. "I guess them are the ones we saw in your east pasture as we come up the drive?"

"Yep. I keep the corral gate open, so they can get in here, out of the weather if they want. Don't use the stalls too often."

Vin nodded again, and climbed over the gate, eyes still taking in all the details of the barn. He looked over his shoulder as he reached a door to his right. His arched eyebrow asked the question, without him having to say a word.

"Tack room. Obviously hasn't seen a lot of action lately."

Vin gave him a one-shoulder shrug, not having to be told more. He did push the door open, apparently curious. He found the light switch quick enough, and Chris heard him give a soft, appreciative whistle. "Damn, Chris. You've got some mighty fine tack, here. You're a regular cowboy, ain'tcha," he said with a grin over his shoulder.

Chris gave a snort and rolled his eyes. "Oh yeah, that's me."

"Barrel racing saddles, hunter saddles, hell, you even got a couple of them Australian saddles."

Chris leaned against the doorframe, watching Vin as his eyes looked on the tack almost adoringly. "You ride?" Chris asked.

Vin slid a grin his way. "You have no idea."

Chris found himself grinning back. "Good. Maybe one of these days I'll actually get a saddle on one of those beasts again."

Vin fingered one of the finest of the leather bridles, but glanced his way as he answered. "I think I'd like to see that."

"And I think I'd like to wait till it warms up just a bit. This kind of cold weather, when it's been a while since they've had to mind under saddle, those horses are going to have some serious attitude."

Vin laughed, shaking his head. "You ain't kidding."

Apparently done with the tack room, Vin wandered out to get a look at the corral. From his relaxed expression, he seemed to really like what he saw. Chris was more glad for that than he'd have expected.

"You got a real nice place, here, Chris. Quiet, ain't crowded with people. You can see plenty of sky."

Of course, Vin was going to have an affinity for the outdoors, having spent two years wrongfully imprisoned, not having the freedom to see the sky whenever he wanted. Vin probably had more appreciation for what the ranch offered than Chris himself, he decided. It humbled him, being reminded of what he still had. "Thanks. You're welcome out here any time," he added on impulse. But he meant it.

Vin walked a circle, taking in the corral, before he stopped to look at him. "Let me know when you want some help with that fencing. And I'll definitely be back when you round up them horses for a joyride."

Chris smiled. "Will do."

Vin glanced at the house again, then sighed. "Reckon this is as good a time as any to get Buck's steaks on the grill."

Chris nodded, agreeing. "That'll give us a bit longer reprieve from their antics, that's for sure."

Vin's sly grin broke out on his face again. "Exactly what I was thinking. Let's get to it, cowboy."

Chris gave Vin an exasperated glare as they headed back toward the house, but there wasn't any real heat behind it. If he had to get stuck with a nickname, he supposed it could've been worse.

*****


End file.
